


Great Pretender

by BenLMoore



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: As psychological construct, Billy's Homelife, Bullying, Dustin has issues, Egg Home Ec Project (I'm open to better ideas), Father figure Hopper, Homophobic Language, Hopper's Advice, Jane's developing new powers, M/M, Mention of Demodogs, Nancy's progressive ideas about sex and romance, Reluctant hero Steve, Sadly No Demodogs, Steve questions his sexuality, Steve's homelife, The Upside Down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-16 17:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18525871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenLMoore/pseuds/BenLMoore
Summary: Former King Steve has  lost his girl, he's spending more time on the bench than the court. His home life has never been all that great.He's geared up and ready to leave Hawkins. There's only one thing he has to do first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to caligulaII and TerraOfTheTeenTitans for valuable, genius-level feedback.

Steve opens the trunk of his dad's car, tosses in his gym bag right on top of that jacked up baseball bat. He won't be needing that thing where he's going, but there's no point taking it out. 

He slams the trunk shut. 

This time, for real. 

****

 

Jonathan Byers leans over Mrs. Spinnaker’s desk with his ass stuck out like an offer. A target to kick. 

What else?

 

_Stop, Steve, man._

_Just stop._

_What the hell is wrong with you?_

 

Steve stuffs his hands down his pockets and looks at anything other than Jonathan’s ass. For example, outside the window, there’s track practice.

Oblivious, Byers takes notes while the blue-haired biddy drones about God only cares what. Steve’s not listening.

He’s too busy trying not to inhale Jonathan’s dollar store soap and deodorant combo. That cheap shit is no match for 18-year-old male sweat. Not that he stinks, exactly. Just smells like himself. Doesn’t even bother with cologne, apparently.

Oh, but he’s wearing the hell out of that pencil, scribbling away like a madman, asking about the grading scale.

How can he possibly take this bullshit seriously? They’ve seen death. Tasted it. They have beaten Death’s Venus flytrap face back to the dark side. Grades were never Steve’s highest priority to begin with, but they mean precisely gooseshit now.

Two brief weeks ago, Steve Harrington and Jonathan Byers were cheerfully saving everybody’s hide from dog-things from another dimension - postponing the end of days. You’re welcome, world.

Now it’s back to high school. Give me a fucking break.

But old Ms. Spinnaker doesn’t know about that other dimension, because nobody does. The danger has passed, and to be honest, Byers has an ass-kicking coming. Steve could wrap his fingers around that butt-kissing, food-stamp collecting, girlfriend-pilfering neck and squeeze until Jonathan’s black eyes go grey as a fish’s.

But Steve has bigger plans. A vision, even.

The night he dropped Dustin at the stupid Hawkins Middle Snow Ball and saw Nancy in Byers’ arms, he knew he had to go.

“Life goes on, Steve-O. She’s just a girl. Other bitches in the sea.”

Quoting Billy Hargrove was the last straw from the camel’s spine, or whatever it is. Stupid metaphor. Or simile. Steve only ever passed English by the grace of Coach’s intervention.

That night, his dad’s tires screeched into the driveway. Steve ran upstairs, tossed his packed gym bag into the trunk and left a stench of rubber on the road.

Then he sat, paralyzed, for two hours staring at the sign at the edge of town:

**Hawkins, Indiana**

**Thanks for visiting!**

Not that Steve had never left Hawkins. He’d just not left with the intention of never returning. It was as if an invisible force field held him trapped in this place. He sat there idling until the gas gauge blinked orange. 

Then, instead of going home, Steve drove to see how it went for Dustin. That was a good enough reason to stay an extra day.

Of course, Steve had to pry the details out of Dustin’s mouth like a rotten tooth he’d never had. Nancy, it would seem, was doling out affection for everyone but Steve. But way to go on your first two-step toward manhood, Dusty. Dancing with a hot, older girl and all. 

Any hard feelings Steve harbors are for Jonathan Byers.

The following night, Steve’s mom had one of her episodes. Wouldn’t have been right to bail in the middle of that shit show.

Every night for the last two weeks, some dumb damn thing has stood between Steve and his freedom. It’s not like he’s sticking around Hawkins for the laughs.

Coach has him glued to the bench. His grades are tanking. He doesn’t even have a girl. He could snap his fingers and get another one, but why bother?

Nancy is always inviting him to sit with her and Jonathan at lunch. What? For charity? So they can all be buddies? Who needs that shit?

Whatever has been holding Steve in Hawkins, today he busts through it.

“Just do it, Harrington.”

Judging by the way Byers and Ms. Spinnaker stare, Steve said that out loud.

He glances back at the track team running in circles. Going nowhere, which is what Steve will be doing if he stays in Hawkins.

Rand McNally is wide open on his passenger’s seat with circles around Toronto, Los Angeles, Tijuana, and the Big Apple.

To Hell with summer school, then community college, then sales with his dad.

“Does that work for you, Mr. Harrington?” Mrs. Spinnaker asks.

Steve nods but has no idea what he’s agreeing to.

Jonathan’s black eyes flick to Steve and then back to his nerd notes. Enough of this bull. Steve grabs his backpack and escapes before Byers can say anything. 

“Steve.”

Just keep walking. Don’t turn around. 

“Hey, check out this couple of fags.”

Billy Hargrove’s voice sounds like it’s coming through a bullhorn.

His new lapdog, Tommy H.’s face lights up. A few kids turn from their lockers, looking forward to whatever is going to happen.

That turncoat asswipe Tommy used to be Steve’s best friend. He was always a prick, but his piss stream had fallen on other people. Now the golden showers are raining on Steve’s head.

If he stands here and lets them.

This is the moment to walk away, turn the other cheek, or whatever counselors tell weak kids to do. But Steve is not weak, dammit. He just saved the fucking world. Not single-handedly, but still.

Steve stops in his tracks, planning to tell Tommy where he can stick it. Jonathan runs into his back and nearly knocks him to the floor.

“God damn it, man,” Steve yells. “Get away from me.”

Jonathan stumbles back, cradling something in his hands. See, some kids are born with a target on their back. Jonathan Byers has been soaking in tongue lashings since middle school. It’s not Steve’s fault. Not his problem. It’s evolution.

Some might say that Steve owes a certain allegiance to Jonathan, because of all that demodog stuff they went through. To that, Steve would say, “Suck it.”

All he has to do is back away and let the hyenas have the easy prey. They’ll rip Jonathan to shreds and Steve can watch with immunity. If Nancy asks what happened, what was Steve supposed to do?

“Get lost, Byers,” Steve says.

The animals pounce.

Billy shoves Jonathan against a locker pounding jabs into his ribs. Tommy grabs a fistful of Jonathan’s godawful bowl cut and jerks him to the floor.

_Tough tits, Byers.  Better you than me, man._

Steve turns to go. He doesn’t need to watch the carnage. As he strides away, his foot slips and flies from under him like Daffy Duck. He thuds onto his back in a mess of shell, yolk, and slime.

Not one to miss an opportunity, Billy Hargrove punts his kidney. Steve’s teeth puncture the inside of his cheek. Warm blood floods his mouth.

Billy is apparently satisfied with Steve’s defeated groan because he backs away, laughing and bouncing on his toes like he can’t wait for round two.

“Later, ladies.”

Tommy follows him up the hall with his chest stuck out, absorbing the titters and nods of Billy’s crowd. The guys who don’t fear him want to be him. Every last girl who used to drool over Steve swoons over Billy’s lashes as he comes and his ass when he goes.

Steve slaps away Jonathan’s outstretched hand and stands on his own. He dusts off his jeans and runs a hand through his hair. His left side is killing him, but he doesn’t clutch it like he wants to. He stands upright and strolls down the hall the opposite way of Billy and Tommy.

Fuck this town.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve idles in the school parking lot, clutching his steering wheel, clenching his teeth. 

_Don’t watch._

Jonathan talks to Nancy, kisses her cheek and jogs over to his Ford POS. Steve tongues the wound in his cheek.

What does she see in this guy? What did Steve ever see in her?

_Screw them both._

Steve starts his dad’s Beamer and follows that salvaged piece of crap Byers calls a car.

Everybody in town knows the situation: their single mom works at the hardware store while her kids run around in thrift store clothes. Steve does not feel sorry for them.

His parents say there was a time she could have had any guy she wanted.Chuck Williams, Bob Newby, even Sheriff Hopper. Those guys who used to follow her around Hawkins High. It’s hard to believe anybody ever wanted that tired, washed out lady. Anyway, she made her choice.

None of that crap would have happened to her if she’d left town.

Other people’s problems aren’t Steve’s business, but this crap egg assignment kind of is. So, he trudges into Big Buy and spares the buck-fifty for the new dozen.

If Steve expected gratitude, he was sorely mistaken.

Jonathan takes the carton and grumbles, “I’ll pay you back.”

With what?

“Whatever, man.”

An old lady wheels her cart across the parking lot, one rickety wheel squeaking - skree skree skree.

It’s going to drive Steve bonkers, exactly like this town. He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from screaming out loud.

“Look, I gotta get out of here.”

“Yeah, I figured I’d be doing this on my own,” Jonathan says.

“What is that supposed mean?”

“No offense, but, when’s the last time you actually did any schoolwork?”

Jonathan meets Steve’s eyes and stands his ground with the carton tucked under his arm. His lip is already busted. Steve’s side still aches from Hargrove’s boot.

“You know what, fuck you, Byers,” Steve says. “Let’s just get this done.”

Jonathan opens the cartons and checks for cracks, as if Steve would buy busted eggs.

“Look, I can just do it,” he says.

He’s probably already filled in half the answers while he was waiting.

Steve is not the complete moron they all think he is, thank you very much. “What, you don’t think I can do it?”

“No, I —-”

What does Nancy see in this loser? Maybe he’s got a big pecker. Steve’s isn’t tiny, but it could be bigger.

“Well, my mom’s working, so I gotta get home for Will.”

Steve knows the way to the Byers shack, but he follows Jonathan, who drives the same pace as Steve’s half-blind grandad. Jonathan opens and shuffles inside, but Steve hovers at the door. This place is a portal into another dimension and the distant past.

Every time he’s here, Steve recalls the first time he ever entered this house: the mysterious smells Steve learned were mildew and grease, the sunlight that gets swallowed by the plyboard and makes the halls feel even tighter.

Setting foot in this house that first time was like creeping into a sleeping bear’s cave. And this was back before there was a monster behind the walls.

Jonathan is waiting. Steve clamps down on the nostalgia and sulks to the sticky kitchen table.

“You want anything to drink?” Jonathan offers.

Steve shakes his head, shoves his hands in his pocket. It isn’t right to take anything from the poor. His mom had told him that the first time he was invited to dinner here.

As messy and musty as it is in this place, Steve never got in trouble for sitting on or touching anything like it was at his house. The Byers didn’t have a stroke if there were fingerprints on a glass. 

“Can we just get this done?”

Jonathan blends purple Kool-Aid. Steve’s throat is the desert. He should skip the backward charity and ask for some, but he troubles his hurt cheek instead.

As Jonathan goes over the assignment, Steve squabbles over every detail, even though he doesn’t give a shit about this egg’s name, gender, or birthday. If they hadn’t both missed the day after Armageddon, none of this would be happening.

Before long, Jonathan’s little brother Will comes home and stares like he’s never seen one of whatever Steve is.

Jonathan debriefs him about the project and Will starts to breathe again. He even offers to scribble on the shell. Steve doesn’t object because the kid agrees that Meggan is a crap name. (Eggward was already taken by another pair).

Steve points at the egg and makes a useful contribution: “You need to boil that thing.”

Jonathan slides the paper across the table.

Rule 3: Egg must remain raw.

Will drops ‘Meggan’ into Jonathan’s palm and says, “You should call her Henrietta. ”

“This is awesome, Will. Thanks.”

It’s not even an egg anymore. A few crayons and real talent have transformed it into a pudgy infant.

“That’s not bad.” Even Steve can admit it.

After all, he’s complimenting the kid, not Jonathan.

Byers speaks out loud as he writes, “Henrietta Harrington-Byers.”

“What?”

“It has to have a last name. If one of us was a girl —“

“No,” Steve says. “Just call it Byers.”

He’s not going to be here for the grade anyway. He’s about to become a deadbeat dad. At least Jonathan knows how to survive that.

Will snags a bag of off-brand crackers and leaves the kitchen. He looks pretty much back to normal. Steve could ask, but then Jonathan’ll think he cares.

And he doesn’t, does he?

No way.

Jonathan writes as he speaks. Steve rubs his mouth, working up the nerve to drop this weight from his chest so he can flee this dickhead’s filthy kitchen, this tiny house, and this nowhere town.

The front door creaks open and Mrs. Byers struggles in with an armload of white paper bags. Steve salivates at the familiar crumple. Jonathan caps his pen, but since Steve is empty-handed and closer, he rushes to help. The aroma of fast food rises up to greet him.

Mrs. Byers smiles. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

Jonathan is quick to explain the assignment. Let no one think they’re hanging out like pals, or something. 

“Well, are you hungry, Stevie?”

Jesus. Nobody has called him that in ages. If she ever did it in public, Steve would pretend she didn’t exist.

He shakes his head, although his stomach has been sending a different message since fifth period. Should’ve bought himself a candy bar at the Big Buy.

Will shuffles out, sits at the table and tolerates his mom’s hair tousling. Jonathan grabs a burger in one hand and keeps scribbling with the other.

“We need to finish this so Steve can go home.”

Home. Where Gloria has the night off, which means his mother’s limp broccoli, scorched rice, and mystery meat are waiting.

Mrs. Byers offers Steve a burger although there’s no way she bought it for him. None of them knew he was going to be here this evening. It’s wrong to take these poor people’s food.

“No, thanks. I’m not —“

His rumbling tummy objects.

Mrs. Byers snickers. “Go on. Take it. Or would you rather have a sandwich?”

Steve takes the damn burger and demolishes it in three bites. He mumbles thanks and nods when Jonathan suggests they finish in his room.

Steve hovers by the closed door. He never thought he’d be in here again. It’s barely the size of his closet. He tries not to take inventory of what’s the same and what’s changed.

Same splintered wood chair at the table (not a proper desk). Same ugly yellowing wallpaper. Different posters. Same threadbare blanket on the same twin bed. Has Jonathan had Nancy in here?

Probably.

Gross.

Steve hops away from the bed and stands by the door rather than touch anything. Another ten minutes in this place, he’ll lose his shit.

Thankfully, Jonathan jots a few final notes and hands over the paper. Steve pretends to read and hands it back with a nod so Jonathan can lay the page on the dusty desk next to a pile of tapes.

“You want to sit down?”

Steve wants to run, but first, he’s going to spit this out.

Or he would if his thick tongue wasn’t cleaving to the roof of his mouth. Before he can speak, Jonathan drops his chin to his chest and mumbles something.

“What?”

“I’ve been meaning to say, about Nancy…”

Steve’s throat closes for business. He glances at the door.

“It just kind of happened.”

The simmering in Steve’s veins warms his chest and face.

“She’s …” Jonathan drags his head back and forth. “I mean, she’s great, but you know that.”

The heat in his gut becomes a quiet boil. He inhales, straightens his spine, stabs his palms with his stubby fingernails.

“I just…”

Nancy’s great. That’s the end of that story. If Jonathan says the wrong thing, Steve is going to reconfigure his face.

Jonathan stops talking and snaps a cassette into his boombox - the only thing in this entire house not fit for the dump. But Queen is not Steve’s kind of music.

“Yeah. Nancy is…” Jonathan’s voice trails off under Freddie Mercury’s howling.

If he starts talking about the mole in the center of Nancy’s chest- the one that makes it look like she’s got a third nipple - blood will spill.

“She’s beautiful, right?” Jonathan asks.

Is that even a question?

“I mean, of course, she’s beautiful,” he says.

Hell, yeah, she is. Hottest girl in the school.

“And smart.”

Smart as Hell. That’s how Steve cornered her: tutoring.

“She’s an amazing girl,” Jonathan tells the floor.

The best.

“The best.”

“And I … Ever since I’ve been with her, I have this feeling like…”

“Like?”

“You can’t tell anybody.”

Then why would Jonathan tell Steve? They’re not friends.

Byers doesn’t have any friends.

As of recently, neither does Steve.

Maybe that’s why he sits here and listens. Maybe that’s why he’s here in the first place. But listening to Jonathan Byers’ secrets is too much. It’s time to tell him where to stuff his crap music and his crap egg assignment.

“I have this feeling…”Jonathan stares out his grimy windows.

It’s almost dark out there.

“Like, maybe I want something else.”

“Something else, like what?”

Jonathan turns around and his tiny eyes are glassy. He always looked like he was contemplating the end of the world. The question is whether he’s a mastermind or a victim.

A lot of animals freeze when they sense danger: Possums, bears, Harringtons. Steve is not in danger, but he can’t move. Nothing has prepared him for the moment when the dude who’s screwing his ex-girlfriend starts to cry. Jonathan’s not sobbing or ugly crying, but the air is thick and Byers is about to burst like a storm cloud.

Just as fast, it blows over, though. He shakes off the disaster and turns up the music.

“You like this song?”

Steve shrugs. Should leave. Doesn’t like Queen.

But this song goes way back before Mercury’s version of it.

_My need is such_

_I pretend too much_

_I'm lonely but no one can tell_

Steve’s mom used to listen to Oldies before she found The Way. He definitely knows this song.

“I read somewhere that he’s into guys, as well as girls,” Jonathan says, for no good reason. “Or maybe just guys. I don’t know.”

Time screeches to a halt like a crappy DJ scratching a record.

Steve has heard that, too, but it isn’t something normal people talk about.That freak Freddie Mercury and this freak Jonathan Byers can jump off a bridge for all Steve cares.

“I’m out of here, man.”

Jonathan doesn’t say anything. He tosses himself onto his back with a hand beneath his pillow.

As Steve retreats from their dirty, little house, Mrs. Byers says, “Good night, Stevie.”

He grunts a reply. Can’t retreat fast enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve lays in the bed and stares at the ceiling.

He could have left town today if it weren’t for Byers and all the egg-related stress.

The only way to wind down from this kind of day is to take matters into his right hand. He’s never had any complaints in the bedroom department, but it could be bigger.

Jonathan’s is probably…

_Stop._

_Knock it off._

That guy must have nobody. It’s the only reason he started down that road.

_Girls and guys._

_Guys and girls._

_Modern, right?_

_Forget that freak, Jonathan Byers._

_Forget that freak, Freddie Mercury._

_It’s not modern. It’s the “disgusting downfall of the nation’s moral fiber,” or whatever Pastor Dennison says. Steve’s throat constricts like there’s a fist around it._

Think about something else.

Nancy.

As he strokes, she’s there behind his eyelids. Skinny, pretty, pale, little Nancy with her clear skin and fragile collarbone. On her knees. Her mouth is warm and perfect. 

All of a sudden, and without invitation, Jonathan is behind her. His dick is way bigger than Steve’s, and he’s taking her doggy-style. Steve should be enraged. It shouldn’t be this hot, but fuck, Steve is close.

He shuts his eyes, jerks with his right, strokes his thigh with the left. He’s at the edge. Wound up so tight. Almost.

But not quite.

He can’t quite get there until Nancy vanishes. And Jonathan Byers’ mouth is where no guy’s mouth ought to be.

Steve tries to stop himself. He earnestly does.


	4. Chapter 4

Gloria doesn’t work Saturday mornings and the air is heavy with a Marsha Harrington specialty: squishy eggs on incinerated Wonder bread.

Steve trips down the stairs, plucking dry gunk from his lashes. Were any of the last eight hours real sleep? The demo dog nightmares are bad; this was worse. If he ever sees Jonathan Byers again, in dream or reality, Steve will bash his own head in.

He stops at the door to his mom’s bedroom and his guts twist. Once the ‘breakfast’ is served, there’s no telling what’s going on in there. Probably prayer. Maybe something worse. Steve touches the knob.

Hairy fingers grip the sides of the levitating Journal Gazette at the kitchen table. Steve’s never been any competition for the news. He skips the barely edible food, leaves his parents in peace and sets out for his final good deed.

When Dustin’s mother asked Steve to clean her gutters, he stuttered but never managed a clear, “No.” 

Dustin is all the kid brother he’s ever going to have, but how far is this going to go? Even though it’s unseasonably warm for January with a bunch of rain in the forecast, why couldn’t Mrs. Henderson call some professional like Steve’s parents always do? Why is Steve scooping clumps of foul-smelling leaves and squirrel shit into a bag? 

He stands up on the roof and snaps off his worker gloves. Dustin is useless with his chubby legs dangling over the edge while he begs for more info on how Steve bagged Nancy. 

“So, what did she say again…”

Steve rolls his eyes. Back when Nancy was still his girl, he told this story with gusto. Now, he pretends not to hear.

“Steve?”

Ignore it. Eventually, he’ll stop.

“I been feeling weird lately,” Dustin says. 

Steve knows all about feeling weird. 

If Dustin confides that he’s having weird dreams about Lucas or one of his nerdy little friends, what can Steve possibly say? Maybe screwing around in other dimensions is making them all nuts: turning them into Freddie Mercury clones with those crazy teeth and the sleeveless t-shirts. Steve would rather die. 

The phone rings in the house distracting them both for a second. If Dustin is having Steve’s kind of weird feelings, he needs to keep the lid on that can before the worms slither out and ruin his life. 

“Dustin, it’s Mike.” Mrs. Henderson calling up saves Steve’s hide. 

“Can’t you see I’m frigging talking up here?”

“Whoa, dude.” Steve’s eyes go wide. "You don’t talk to your mom like that.” 

Dustin and his mom usually treat each other like a pair of pet poodles. It’s a little gross, actually, especially considering that Harringtons hardly talk at all. 

Right now, though, Dustin’s toothless mouth is foaming as he snarls down at his mother. “She gets on my fucking nerves.” 

That’s another first. Dustin says, ’dammit.’ He might say shit and lisp, and it’s cute.

At least it was before the ravages of puberty struck with a vengeance.

“You be good to your mom. She’s doing her best.” 

“She’s a bitch.” Dustin stalks down the ladder like he doesn’t give a crap whether it tumbles backwards or not. 

Steve finishes and climbs down, too. 

If there’s any cure for male adolescent blues, it’s a manwich. Warm tomato sauce and ground beef on a soggy white bun. The scent of it makes Steve feel five years younger and a hundred pounds lighter. God never made a finer food and Steve hums his appreciation. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

“No. Thank you.” Mrs. Henderson slides a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, Stephen, how can it be that a handy, handsome boy like you hasn’t roped a new girlfriend yet?” 

A glob of Sloppy Joe goes down the wrong pipe and Steve’s life flashes behind his eyes.

“Just like your dad.” Dustin’s mother’s finger slips under the collar of her blouse. “Did you know what we called him in school?” 

“Can you stop being disgusting? God.” Dustin’s mouth is full and a morsel flies out between his tiny front teeth. “He’s like a quarter of your age.” 

His mother drops her fork on her plate and sits back in her chair. 

Steve pounds his own chest as his lungs ache for air that won’t come. This would be a stupid time and place to die. His jaw falls open like that barracuda on the bottom of his grandpa’s bowrider off the coast of Bermuda last summer. It didn’t end well for that fish. Maybe Mrs. Henderson will want to hang Steve over her mantlepiece. 

Finally, she stops being pissed at Dustin long enough to glance at Steve. She leaps around the table and wraps her meaty arms around Steve’s ribs. It only takes one tight squeeze for a chunk to fly across the table and slap wet against the wall. 

Steve drops his face between his knees, sweating, heaving in the sweet, precious oxygen. His throat and lungs are still burning, but he’s alive. It’s not the first time he ever really appreciated that. 

On his way out of the house, Dustin’s mother presses a warm, meat-smelling lump of aluminum foil into Steve’s palm. He mumbles his thanks. 

There isn’t much discussion on the drive to Mike’s. Dustin broods and Steve says nothing. Another near-death experience is a pretty good sign that it’s time to leave town.

Steve idles in front of the Wheeler’s, but Dustin doesn’t climb out. He stares down the road like he’s gathering courage for a confession. 

“You all right?” Steve asks, although he doesn’t want to know. 

“Can you come in? Just for a little bit.” The kid’s huge, brown eyes go on full hound dog. 

“And do what?”

Dustin’s expression is not so much sadness as terror. 

“Max is going to be here, isn’t she?” Steve should have known before he asked. 

“It isn’t that." 

Whatever it is, Dustin is clearly terrified.

This is about as low as Steve can possibly sink, but it’s not so awful saying goodbye to the geek brigade before he splits. After all, they did save the world together. 

If Nancy happens to be around, that wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened. 

Tomorrow, they’ll all say, “Steve Harrington? Gone? But we just saw him.”

Steve stuffs his hands in his pockets and asks Mike, real casual, “Hey, your sister home?”

Mike turns up his nose. “Are you here to be a weirdo?” 

“What? No.” Steve snatches the game box from his sickly little hands. 

Kid looks like the Grim Reaper Jr. anyway. 

Max and Lucas deserve credit. They downplay their thing as much as possible, but the magnetism is palpable between them. 

As soon as Steve sees Mike’s setup, he demands Will’s place as Gamemaster. He’ll stick around until Nancy gets home, but make it look like he was big brothering the nerds. Then he’ll slide upstairs and say his last goodbye. 

Once the game is afoot, Steve stuns even himself with his masterful calls. Even more shocking is how into it he gets. 

“There’s no way this is your first time.” Will Byers challenges him with a lightsaber. 

The truth is, it’s been so long since Steve did anything this dorky, he didn’t even realize he missed it. “I used to play with your brother,” he says. “When my mom let me.” 

“My brother?” Will asks. 

All of their beady little eyes are on Steve.

“Yeah, we were…” 

What is the word for a pair of runts who slice their thumbs and pressing the wounds together?

Steve hasn’t thought about that in forever. It was a different lifetime. He wasn’t the same person. These kids wouldn’t believe it, and Jonathan’s definitely forgotten by now. 

“Are we going to fucking play or what?” Dustin asks and grunts like the Incredible Hulk. 

Then, he overturns the table and all those beady eyes pop open.

Lucas leaps into Dustin’s face, yelling, “What the hell is wrong with you lately? You’re like a frigging—” 

Dustin shoves him once, twice and before Steve can jump between them, Dustin does the unthinkable.

He strikes.

Not a shove, or chest bump. Dustin launches a right hook to the jaw that sends Lucas to the floor. Maxine kneels at his side, stroking Lucas’ forehead and scowling up like she’s ready to go a round with Rocky Henderson over here.

She gets her wish, too.

Dustin barrels over the mess from the game, kicking at Max and Lucas while Will covers his ears and cowers in a corner.

Steve puts Dustin, that little nut, in a headlock and he keeps trying to stomp his friends.

“Cool it, Dustin,” Steve says. “Kid, relax.”

He is not relaxing. And Dustin may be younger, but he’s bulky and hard to hold. One of his crazy swings connects with Steve’s thigh, too close to the Harrington jewels.

“Dustin. Chill out.”

“Let me go, Steve. Fucking let go of me.” He bucks and strains. “Get off of me!”

Mike locks eyes with Steve and rushes to open a side door. There’s more to that scrawny kid than Steve thought, because he helps to pin Dustin’s arms. Together, they wrestle him outside. 

“Okay. I’m going to let you go,” Steve says. “And you’re going to —“

The moment Steve’s grip loosens, Dustin lowers his head and charges him to the ground like he’s already on Hawkins High’s football squad. He’s not slow either. Dustin disappears into the dark before Steve is back on his feet. 

Mike squeaks, “Aren’t you going to go after him?” 

“He just needs to run it off.” 

The whole geek brigade crowds Steve, urging, begging.

“Fine. You know what?” Steve smooths his hair. “Fine.”


	5. Chapter 5

 After three fruitless hours of driving back and forth across Hawkins, Steve idles at the end of the Byers’ driveway. There’s no way Dustin is here, but Nancy is. She passes by the living room window and vanishes as she plops down on the sofa. Probably next to Jonathan. Probably tucks her feet under her ass and leans into him, smelling like flowers and baby powder. 

Steve's wheels grind up dust and gravel as he turns around, drives all the way to the edge of the force field.

**Hawkins, Indiana**

**Thanks for visiting!**

 

A few hours later, he’s parked outside the Weavers’, proving Mike right: Steve Harrington has become a weirdo.

Curfew is 11 PM and Jonathan Byers’ is ten minutes early. That piece of shit Ford pulls up. Byers and Nancy peck like a couple of old people. Steve used to jam his tongue so far down her throat she’d tap out for air. 

She waves and slips through the door. 

Okay. Now, what, Harrington?

It’s too late to knock. Steve has never bothered with the front door before. Why start now? His heart slams in his chest as he climbs up, takes a deep breath and knocks on the window. 

Nancy leaps like a surprised little bunny, frowns and shakes her head when she sees him. 

“Come on,” Steve says, although she can’t hear him through the glass. 

Eventually, she cracks it wide enough to say, “This is not okay.”

“I just need to tell you one thing and then I’ll go.” 

Nancy steps back and allows him to enter. Her mom must be baking. The place smells like a brownie factory. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Nancy says. 

“What? Because of your boyfriend?” Steve spits the word like it’s poison.

He has a right to poke out his chest and peer down at her. To call her a slut and smack her face. He does none of it. Steve turns his back to her, picks up ballerina elephant figurine.

“Normal people come through the door, Steve.” 

Normal people. That’s a good one. Wait until she hears this. See what she thinks about normal people then. 

Is that the plan? Rat Jonathan out and make Nancy leave him? Then leave town so she’s on her own again. It would serve them both right. Besides, why would Jonathan tell Steve that crap unless he wants the beans spilled? 

Technically Jonathan didn’t tell Steve anything, but he strongly suggested it. Byers was practically begging Steve to break them up. He’s doing them all a favor. Jonathan wants out. Nancy deserves to know. 

She’s standing there with her bony arms folded, so he might as well say something.

“Did you know he’s a sissy?”

There are worse things he could say, but even that words spills past his teeth and leaves a bitter aftertaste nastier than anything he’s ever had in his mouth. But it’s the truth, and it’s out and all Steve can do now is wait for Nancy reaction. 

“That’s not a very enlightened way to speak about someone.” She shifts her weight onto her other hip and

shakes her head. “Especially someone who used to be your friend.” 

So, Jonathan had ratted, too. What else does she know?

 “So, he’s talked to you.”

What does that mean? So, she knows? All this is for nothing. 

“Listen,” Nancy says. “This whole thing has just got completely out of control. I know I speak for us both when I say--” 

Nancy crosses the floor, curls her hand around Steve’s neck and pulls him down into a soft, sweet kiss. Steve’s knees soften. He sucks in a quick burst of air like some kind of never-been-kissed virgin. It’s just a complete left hook.

“What? What? What…” 

There are more words to the question, but Steve’s brain has stuttered to a halt. Nancy zips down Steve’s jacket and tugs at the center of his polo shirt. 

“I think about you a lot,” she says. 

“You… what about —“ 

“Jonathan and I have a sophisticated relationship.” 

What does that mean? No one would use the word sophisticated to describe Steve Harrington. 

“We’ve decided that being together doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have everything we want.” 

Nancy’s next kiss is longer, deeper. She takes Steve’s hands and pulls him toward the bed. 

“Wait. What the hell is going on?” Steve bats away the slender fingers clawing at his belt buckle. “You’re still with Jonathan, but you want to be with me, too?” 

“Is that so crazy? To love you both? And if Jon already told you...” 

Steve shakes his head like he’s trying to whiplash himself out of the Twilight Zone. 

“...about liking guys or maybe liking them. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter,” Nancy says because she has no idea what she’s talking about.

How can a thing like that not matter? What about the moral fiber of our culture, or whatever? 

“Love doesn’t have to be as small and limiting as people want us to think.” 

Nancy is talking in riddles, sliding off Steve’s jacket and pulling his shirt over his head. She unbuttons her blouse and who is Steve to question a girl who knows what she wants? 

Isn’t this what he wants? 

Nancy on her knees. Skinny little fingers making his dick look bigger. This tiny mouth on him. He closes his eyes, drops his head back and lets her. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Well, since she’s asking, there’s a knot in the center of Steve’s chest. 

Nancy has been on her knees for a long time and Steve isn’t any harder than when he stumbled through the window. And he still doesn’t know what he’s doing here, other than choking on his own bullshit. 

Ever since Nancy called him out at that party, trickles of manure have been cracking through the surface, puddling around Steve’s ankles at first. Not so deep that he couldn’t wade through it and keep his head up. 

Here lately, there’s getting to be enough bullshit to drown in. That’s why Steve needs out of Hawkins. He needs to be somewhere else, somebody new. Like none of it ever happened.  

Steve can add this night to the crap to put behind him. He’s had boners in the middle of Spanish exams, but never has his pecker refuse to leave the bench. This is a level of humiliation no one should ever face. He’s tempted to stay there and make his body behave, but he pulls up his jeans and apologizes. 

He grabs his jacket and leaves the way he came - all the while cursing his weiner, and Nancy Wheeler, and Jonathan Byers, and their stupid sophistication. 

Steve is still cursing when he passes Dustin’s house. Mrs. Henderson stands in the front yard, calling out like her son is a lost dog who’ll come home if she’s loud enough. 

Dustin is not Steve’s brother. Not his problem. 

There’s a stop sign at the corner. That’s why he stops. 

“Shit.” 

He slips the car into reverse, slings his right arm behind the passenger seat as he backs up. Steve opens the driver’s door and stands with one leg on the asphalt. 

“Still?” 

Dustin’s mother shakes her head before she hangs it and bawls.

It’s freezing out here and she’s in a bathrobe. Steve shields her under his arm and escorts her into the house. He brews chamomile tea like he used to do for his mother, and spends half an hour talking Mrs. Henderson down to grateful sniffles. 

“Don’t worry,” Steve says. “I’ll find him.” 

It’ll be the last thing he does before he leaves Hawkins.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Bow your head, Stephen.”

Steve obeys. This is not his first prayer. Just the last.

His mom dips her thumb in the oil and marks a cross on Steve’s forehead as she mumbles the prayer for protection and guidance.

“Say it with me.”

Steve mumbles along, “… strengthen and protect us from the evil one.”

His mother anoints his hands and murmurs a blessing about bravery and kindness. Whatever. It tickles and always takes three washes to get the smell off his skin.

“Stephen, say it.”

He sighs and recites the words, stealing glances at his watch. Then she clicks on the radio and Steve would gladly smash his head against the wall.

Pastor Dennison’s disembodied voice ebbs and swells through the speakers. He coos to the Chosen Who Shall Arise and shouts  
damnation and hellfire on the rest of the world’s Sorry Sinners, such as Stephen Q. Harrington.

“What’s the date again, mom?”

She looks up at him, surprised at the interruption. A few blinks break the trance and she recites:

“Man, in his sin, shall aim to touch the face of God and tumble to the ground as a fledgling pushed from its mother’s nest. This great day shall take place on the 26th day of January, in 1986.”

Steve already knows the damn dates, like he knows his own birthday. The prophecy used to scare the shit out of him when he was a kid. Now he knows it’s true - all of it. The evil one, damnation.

When Steve’s mom discovered the Way, Jonathan Byers was the only person Steve told. Jon’s answer was always the same: “Nothing’s going to happen, man.”

That was back before there was a monster behind his walls. Wonder what Jonathan thinks now.

Steve’s mother continues, “April 26, that same year, the ground shall be scorched with hellfire and bring forth no more fruit.”

There are others. A whole succession of Pastor Dennison’s shitty prophecies that culminate with the end of days on November 9, 2001.  
Seventeen years is a long ways off, but it’s coming.

Steve had agreed with Jonathan that Hell was a crazy scare tactic - until the day he hit a homerun with a demon’s face in Jonathan Byers’ house. Those things don’t match the scriptural descriptions of demons. That  
tunnel Steve followed those nerds into in isn’t what any followers of The Way would expect of Sheol.

But that’s details.  
The End is just beginning.

There’s no escaping the End of Days, but Steve refuses to die in Hawkins where he’s nothing but the second-best point guard to everyone except for his batshit mother.

He lets her finish the ritual and kisses her forehead before  
he leaves.

***

Out here, the air always smells wild and alive. Steve used to run through these woods, like a maniac. Like he could do or be anything he wanted. Him and Jon.

A long time ago.

Steve parks beside Sheriff Hopper’s truck and hikes the half-mile up  
to the cabin. As he’s climbing the rickety steps to the front door, an acorn lands on his head.  
Then another.

“Ow.”

Steve ducks and covers his head, runs to escape the falling sky.

“Crap.”

Over his head, someone is cackling. He follows the sound up to an ancient oak.

‘Sorry. He thinks it’s so funny.’

Jane is up there, but her voice is clear as if she’s standing beside Steve, or closer.

“Are you in my head?” He asks out loud, but too quietly for  
her to hear him from this distance.

‘I’m practicing new things.'

“Wow. Ow. Knock it off!”

Every single nut that little shit, Mike Weaver throws connects with Steve’s head. There’s no way that skinny dork’s aim is that good. Jane must be directing them, which is definitely cheating.

“You little … When you get down here.”

A storm of acorns darkens the sky. Steve covers his head with his arms and takes cover.

‘Sorry,’ Jane thinks at him, but she’s laughing, too.

The cabin door opens, Sheriff Hopper steps onto the porch and all the nuts patter to the ground.

“Steve?”

Steve stands up straight, daring those little creeps to attack with the law watching.

“How’s your mom?”

It’s not the first time Hopper has asked, nor is he the first old guy to  
inquire. There’s always a tone to it. This town is incestuous like that. All the adults have screwed each other or wanted to at some point. It’s another disgusting reason to leave.

What if the sheriff was his dad? It’s not impossible. Hopper’s hair’s pretty good. Better than Carl Harrington’s inexcusable combover.

Steve Hopper sounds stupid, but Jane’s got a good thing here. The old man stands at the base of her tree like a retriever snarling up at a pair of raccoons in heat. Hop’s the kind of dad every kid deserves.

“So this is lookout?” He asks.

“Are they looking for Dustin?”

The sheriff scowls at the lovebirds once more but doesn’t answer.

“But you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hopper says.

He’s still not making eye contact. Is Steve missing something?

“So, clearly, you’re not worried that the same thing is going to happen to him that happened to Will or else you’d be out there —“

“Cool it.”

Sheriff Hopper’s hand on Steve’s shoulder has super-human calming powers. It’s firm without being cruel or cold.

And when he says, “He’s fine,” Steve is inclined to believe him.

Of course, Dustin’s fine. What alternative is there? One of those freaky demon-things munching on his face is not an option. So, he has to be fine.

“He’s fine,” the sheriff repeats and removes the hand. “If that’s why you’re out here, it’s under control.”

“How is it under control?” Steve asks. “Do you know where he is?”

The sheriff looks back at the kids in the tree, leans close and whispers with his spiked coffee breath, “Yeah, I do.”

Well, there it is. Mission accomplished. Now Steve can hit the road and never look back.

Only instead of moving toward his car, he starts rubbing the hell out of his lips trying to keep in the words.

“Is there something else, son?”

“Yeah, I, uh … One thing.”

“All right.”

“There’s somebody I may have feelings for.”

What the hell?

This is a cop, not a guidance counselor. Steve has lost his mind, but it’s out of the bag. The fact is, there’s no one else on earth he trusts.

The sheriff frown rises into a grin. The old man didn’t see this coming, but it’s apparently amusing. It’s also only fair. Dustin had turned to Steve. Steve has to have a guru, too.

“Aren’t you a little old for the birds and the bees?”

“This is … different.” The only thing to do is spit out the golf ball in his throat. “It’s, kind of, more like the birds and the birds.”

Sheriff Hopper scrunches his face. Doesn’t get it. He points up the tree and shouts, “You kiss her again, I’m coming up there!”

That’s not very likely, but now he’s waiting for Steve to explain himself.

Here goes. “My dad says … Elton John is … You know, not … That maybe, he’s a little different.”

Steve already knows what his dad thinks. And what Pastor Dennison thinks. What Steve needs right now is a third opinion.

“Jesus Christ.” The sheriff looks around like someone might be watching. “Why are you asking me about this? Why don’t you talk to your dad?”

Steve has miscalculated. He sees that now, too late. The sheriff glances back at the cabin like he’d very happily retreat, lock the door, and never talk to him again.

“I figured you lived in the city,” Steve chokes the words out of his dry mouth. “Maybe you’d… you know, seen some things.”

“Never things like … Jesus, kid.” The poor guy takes off his hat and runs a hand over his head.

His hair’s not that great. It’s thin on top. Steve may never know who his real dad is. All he knows is it can’t be Carl Harrington.

Meanwhile, he’s outstayed his welcome and made a complete freak of himself. He turns to go. “Sorry. I…”

“No. Hey. Listen.” That hand is on Steve’s arm again, tethering him to the ground. “It’s, uh … Not really my place to say, is it?”

Steve shrugs. He’d take it back if he could.

“My instinct is that love and all that can’t be a bad thing, right?”

No one has ever said anything like that. Most everybody teaches that sex with girls is bad until marriage and … well, nobody talks about anything else except throwing around cruel words.

“If that’s… Look, I wish I could tell you it was safe, Steve, but not from what I’ve seen,” The sheriff shakes his head like he’s at a funeral. “Those guys are getting sick. They get their asses kicked, constantly. I mean, that’s about all I ever saw of them in the city. You know, guys with their heads bashed in for… I don’t know. You don’t seem like you have any problems with the bees, kid. Wouldn’t that be simpler? You know what I mean?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, there’s just this one bird …”

He trembles. Can’t believe he’s saying it out loud. Can’t believe Hopper hasn’t kicked him off his property for even suggesting he might… If Steve could just stop thinking about it.

He’s tried. Hasn’t even touched himself.

Hopper is going to rub a hole in his forehead.

“Then you need to keep it quiet, Steve,” he says. “World’s not always friendly towards different.”

That seems to remind him of Jane. The sheriff squints up at the  
kids in the tree and his expression instantly morphs from thoughtful to rage. His hand raises to his waist like he’s reaching for his holster.

“Get down! You two get down from there.”

Jane sticks out her tongue.

It’s so easy to forget that she’s a kid until she gets around Mike. Then, she stops being this badass, otherworldly whatever-she-is and turns into a giggling, little girl. It’s actually adorable.

The sheriff marches around the cabin and stomps back with an ax hanging from his hand. Steve might jump between the man and the tree, but the sheriff has an ax, and he’s on his own property and he did warn those kids to come down.

Steve cringes as Sheriff Hopper swings the ax over his shoulder - then freezes mid-swing. It’s like someone has pushed the pause button on the VHS.

Jane glides down the trunk. Mike takes two minutes to complete his descent.

“Hi, Steve.” She’s still a tiny little thing, but her curls are a force to be reckoned with.

“Hey, Jane.”

She pats the Sheriff’s frozen cheek. “He’ll calm down, then I’ll let him go.”

It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

“Does this happen often?”

“No,” Mike answers. “It’s the —“

His mouth clamps shut and his eyes bulge out. Jane shakes her head, but she’s apparently already stopped his tongue for him.

Great. Secrets.

“Don’t worry about Dustin,” Jane says. “I’m taking care of it.”


	7. Chapter 7

Last day in Hawkins. For real this time.

Even before Steve opens his eyes, he can’t not touch himself. Can’t pretend that dream wasn’t about Jonathan. He’s in his own bed, in his own head. So, he lets himself return to the dream before it slips away.

Stevie and Jonny sit side by side on that boulder by Clagg’s Creek on the stream that runs through the woods behind the Byers’ place. In the dream, it’s Jonny’s hand stroking him slow, at first. Jonny won’t meet his eyes though. Always so shy, it drives Stevie crazy.

When he shivers, it’s not because of the crisp, cold air in the bubble around them.

“Is it nice?” Jonny whispers, pancake breath warm on Stevie’s neck.

The way Jonny touches him is more than nice. It’s Heaven, and Stevie is shaking like a leaf as Jonny’s maple syrup lips touch his.

Steve’s bedroom door swings open. “Are you — Heavenly Father!”

His mother doesn’t have the decency to run out or close the door. She stands there, gawking. So, he pulls a pillow over his head.

“Stephen! You are going to burn for that!”

“You could knock.”

“You’re going to burn.” She drags at the sheets.

Steve grips tight, clinging to the dregs of his dignity. “Okay, mom. Fine.”

He stands holding the sheet, gently pushes her out and closes the door.

What the hell?

She doesn’t usually just barge in here like that. The alarm clock blinks 4:32 AM. There must have been a power outage overnight. As it turns out, it’s nearly 7:30.

“Shit.”

Steve skips the shower to leave time to style his hair. Thank God for Gloria. He picks up his egg sandwich wrapped in a paper towel on his way out of the door.

In exchange, she receives a smile and a quiet, “Gracias.”

If Jonathan’s in school, Steve doesn’t see him, which is very good luck. Steve spends lunch in the career center. He spends gym in the library. It’s not that he’s scared of those jerks, just doesn’t need the stress today. There’s enough madness in his brain without their contribution.

After school, Nancy is taking books from Jonathan’s locker. Before she spots him, Steve spins and leaves the building by the nearest exit.

***

First of all, this is stupid.  
Steve shouldn’t be here. But before he can abandon ship, the front door opens. Steve’s heart beats hard enough to feel it in his teeth. But his face is trained: smooth and cool. He’s practiced this ‘who cares?’ look a million times. He’s a fucking great pretender.

Jonathan mirrors it back and waits for Steve to speak first.

“I’m checking on the egg.”

“Father of the year.” Jonathan leads the way down the hall to his bedroom.

Steve resists and then allows himself one glance at Jonathan’s ass. Then he studies Will’s art on the walls.

“You weren’t in school,” Steve points out, like a frigging genius.

No response.

Jonathan points to the egg resting in a small basket full of twigs and leaves and pine needles.

“Cute.”

“Happy?” Jonathan clearly can’t wait for Steve to leave. “It’s not going to hatch, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“What’s up?”

“What’s up what?” Jonathan’s tiny eyes grow smaller.

“You weren’t in school,” Steve repeats, like a jackass.

No answer.

Okay, so he doesn’t want to talk. Steve didn’t drive all the way out here for some freaking egg. He’s going to do this if it kills him.

“Did you hear about Dustin?”

It’s a stall tactic. Whatever. Steve is working up to it.

“Yeah,” Jonathan says. “And I heard that Hopper has it under control.”

Jane says she has it under control. That would be more comforting if she wasn’t also dealing with a wigged-out sheriff.

“Well…” Jonathan points to his door. “Egg’s fine. Dustin’s fine.”

Steve stops at the front door before Jonathan can push him out and padlock it shut.

“Look, I, uh… I was wondering about what you said the other day. Is there … You know, is there a particular guy that you —“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jonathan shoves him.

Steve stumbles, but doesn’t counterattack. At least not with his hands. His mouth continues the assault, “The other day. What you said. About Freddie Mercury.”

“Get out of here.”

“I almost hooked up with Nancy!”

That’s the problem with nerves. Steve gets anxious and shit spills out of his idiot mouth.

“I know.”

He knows?

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “We don’t keep secrets from each other. And she already knows who I like.”

If Nancy has the intel, Steve will never know, because he’s not going near her again.

“Jonny,” he whispers.

Is he seriously here, doing this?  
How did it ever even come to Steve standing on the Byers front slab right now? What is he waiting to hear? That freaky Jonathan Byers beats off to him, too. Steve has officially lost whatever brains he ever had.

“If you really want to know,” Jonathan folds his arms. “Billy Hargrove is … his eyes are unbelievable. Talks about you a lot. Ever notice that?”

Steve’s stomach churns and threatens to empty its contents in Joyce’s Byer’s half-dead ferns. Billy Hargrove is an animal. Steve had watched with his own eyes while Billy treated Jonathan like a ripped punching bag.

“We’re supposed to go catch a movie later,” Jonathan says. “He’s pretty experienced. California, you know? So, we’ll see what happens.”

All of a sudden, Jonathan is Mr. Talkative, when what he really ought to do is shut up. Steve is this close to sinking his fist into one of those beady black eyes.

But he doesn’t do anything or say anything. He just stands there like a possum.

“Billy’s weird.” Jonathan is still talking. Why won’t he fucking stop talking? “He acts all tough in front of everybody and then, when you’re alone with him, he’s an entirely different person. Kind of like you that way.”


	8. Chapter 8

Steve grips the steering wheel.

Why why-why is he here? What is this supposed to accomplish?

This is the stupidest thing he’s done, possibly ever, and that’s saying a lot considering his recent stupidity streak.

Start the car. Go home.

Better yet, get out of Hawkins. That bag is still in the trunk.

Steve has never been one to look for trouble. But Jonathan had said it:

Billy Hargrove is _experienced._

The garage door is open. A floodlight blares down on Billy’s open hood.

Steve is going to say this one thing. That’s it. What’s the worse that can happen? He can get his ass handed to him, which is likely. And unnecessary. 

Steve turns back toward his car. 

If anything bad happens to Jonathan…

Why is this his problem?

It’s not. Not his problem, not his business.

Jonathan treats Steve like a stranger, because that’s what they are. A couple of wet dreams doesn’t make Steve the guy’s keeper.

If he really cared about Jonathan, he would have done everything differently. But there’s no going back in time. There’s only this minute, right now. 

“Shit.”

Steve turns again and marches toward the sharp stink of gasoline. If his face gets busted again, so be it. At least he will have said his thing. Then he can leave. 

At the tail of the car, his heart slams against his ribs, but his face is smooth. Expression: cool. 

A man stands at the hood, casting a long shadow on the floor. It’s not Billy, though. This guy is older. His eyes are squeezed shut. 

“That’s it, boy. Take it.”  

His pants are around his knees, hands on Billy’s skull, guiding him. 

Disgust and lust clash in a vicious swirl as Steve’s heart sinks to the base of his gut. 

This was a mistake. 

The man’s eyes open like a demo dog’s face. Steve stumbles back. Billy rises, wipes his mouth and freezes: a snapshot of a pretty boy with his knuckles on his lips.

“Deal with this.” The man buckles his belt and slinks into the house.

The surprise has drained from Billy’s face leaving only crazy-calm in its place. Treacherous serenity.

Steve could run, but Billy’s unblinking eyes are headlights. He’s close enough that Steve takes a step back to keep their chests from touching. Billy licks his swollen red lips and whispers, “King Steve.”

Steve’s got nothing. No comeback. Not even fear. His mind is fully loaded with blanks. 

“Something I can do for you?”  

The words reek of cigarette smoke and musk. 

Jonathan’s right. Billy’s eyes are amazing: crystal blue, shining wet behind long lashes. Maybe the prettiest Steve’s ever seen.


	9. Chapter 9

That’s all it takes. Seeing Billy Hargrove giving some old guy a BJ.(Surely not his dad. Jesus Fitzgerald Christ. Carl Harrington is an asshole, but he never…)

That’s the fucked up straw Steve needed to push him over the edge and set him sailing south on I-69 like a bandit. He flies past that sign that used to keep him back.

When he crosses the border into Mexico, he’ll call in an anonymous tip, if for no other reason than to make sure Max is safe in that house.

Steve can’t even turn on his music; his head is still wrecked.

‘Come, now.’

Steve jumps and slams on the brake. It wouldn’t be freakier if Jane leapt up from the backseat and shouted ‘boo.’

She’s not in the car. She’s in his head, which is a hundred times worse.

“You shouldn’t do that to people,” he replies out loud, like a normal person, talking to an empty car.

‘I need you to come now.’

“I can’t do that.”

‘Steve, Dustin and Hopper need you. Please.’

Steve shakes his head, twists his hands on the wheel.

“Shit.”

He presses the gas to the floor and takes a hairpin turn the BMW was never meant to execute: rubber burning, tires screeching, and Steve Harrington swearing all the way back into town.

***

The whole gang is here. It’s a reunion of Hawkins freaky trauma survivors, and an interesting study in pajamas.

Nancy is tucked under Jonathan’s arm. Steve pretends not to see the hand she reaches out. Instead, he kneels beside the sofa where Sheriff Hopper lays like a corpse at a wake.

“Is he…?”

“No,” Jane answers.

Mike says, “They were going nuts.”

“I’ve had to quiet them both.”

Jane says both, because as Steve now sees, Dustin is laying on a mattress in the corner of the room with his hands folded over his belly.

“What the hell?”

“They’re stuck,” Jane says, explaining nothing.

“In the Upside-Down?”

It sounds insane, but everybody in this room knows exactly what Steve is asking. Jane nods, grown-up worry on her child’s face. Moments like this, even Mike can’t penetrate her somber concentration.

“How can they be there when they’re here?”

“Not in the place-place,” Jane answers. “It’s a mind-place.”

Thankfully Mike is here, because Steve is going to need more information than that. Only his explanation is less helpful. He rambles about spores from the MindFlayer trapped in Hop and Dustin’s psyche.

It’s been too long since Steve spoke fluent Dweebinese. The only clear thing Mike says is that somebody’s needs to go in to rescue Dustin and the Sherriff.

There’s no shortage of volunteers.

Mrs. Byers, Jonathan’s mother, stands beside the sheriff. The nerdlings bicker over which should have the honor of going into Who-Knows-Where to do Who-Knows-What.

Steve’ll hand it to them. Dustin’s friends are the stupidest smart kids he ever met. There is a word for people who volunteer to run toward unknown danger: morons.

“Steve will go.”

It’s not a request. Jane has spoken.

“If one of you goes,” she says. “You’re going to waste time on who should lead the way back. He’ll follow Steve without question.”

Steve doesn’t argue because she’s right. But his guts don’t like it. Goosebumps don’t like it. He should be in Arkansas by now.

Steve curses under his breath and stands. “What do I have to do?”

“You need to bring him back,” Jane says. “If I let them out the way they are now, they’ll hurt themselves and anyone else they can. You need to find them in their darkest place and convince them to come back here.”

It doesn’t make sense, but Steve nods and searches the cabin for possible weapons. “Are there going to be those plant-face dog-things?”

“Demodogs,” Lucas corrects, because that’s the most important detail right now.

“No,” Jane answers. “This will be harder, because your darkest place is there, too. The spores feed on anything bleak: anger, sadness, jealousy. It makes them grow until they take over. You have to remind Dustin that’s not all there is.”

There isn’t much more to Jane’s instructions. It doesn’t sound that difficult at all. Find the kid, snap him out of it and bring him back.

Steve lays down beside Dustin. He has no idea how this works, but if Jane’s in charge of it, that’s some comfort.

Not a lot, but some.

Steve stares at the ceiling rather than look at Jonathan and Nancy. Then, he closes his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

When Steve opens his eyes, he’s still in the cabin, but the light has gone grey. He coughs out a huge flake of black dust and curls his nose against the stench of singed plastic and sewage.

Steve shivers and hugs himself against the chill.

“You okay?”

Her voice makes him jump, but then he blows out a loud sigh. At least he’s not alone. Mrs. Byers is crouched beside the sofa, but the sheriff is not here. Neither is Steve’s little buddy. The Gilligan to his Skipper - (although Steve sees himself as a blend: two parts Skipper, two parts Professor.)

“Take this.” Mrs. Byers offers Sheriff Hopper’s gun. “Just in case.”

“How did you —“ Steve’s never even touched one of those things.

The only alternative in the cabin is a broomstick.

Mrs. Byers cocks the pistol. “Hop’s got to be at the hospital."

Of course, Sheriff’s Darkest Place is where his daughter died. “Should I come with you?”

“No.” She sprints off toward town and calls over her shoulder. “You get Dustin and get out of here.”

This Upside-Down Not-Place looks enough like Hawkins that Steve’s dad’s car should be at the bottom of the hill. The quickest way to do anything is going to be on four wheels, so he hikes down toward it.

At the sight of the car, Steve leaps and runs. “Yes!”

He bends over and kisses the hood. His keys are still in his pocket.

But, of course, the engine won’t turn over. It’s probably clogged with this floaty crap. However, his trusty makeshift club is in the trunk and that’ll have to do. He flips it once to get the feel back into his hands.

End of Days. Take three.

His gym bag is still in there, too, packed to the brim with his cash and his fleeing clothes. If Steve survives this, he’s earned his passage out of Hawkins and nothing is going to stop him.

***

Steve has known Dustin a couple of months. How is he supposed to guess the kid’s Darkest Place?

Every place here is a dark version of the other side. The arcade is beyond creepy with the busted screens and cobweb junk clinging to the surfaces. This is where the nerds met Max, or something like that.

Steve should have listened better. That would be depressing. Anyway, Dustin isn’t here.

Stop two: Hawkins Middle School. Steve suffered some of his most traumatic days here. Whenever possible, he drives an alternate route around town to avoid looking at the building. Steve pauses at the double doors for a few seconds before taking the plunge through them.

Creeping through these empty halls is the stuff of nightmares. Any minute, Kyle Massey is going to jump out and call Steve a pussy. Steve searches every single room. No Kyle. No Dustin. Just shuddering Steve clutching the club in both hands like a security blanket.

He comes through the other side, out of ideas, and ready to bail.

The fastest way back to Dustin’s house is to pass by the Harrington’s. Steve stands in his own yard, squinting up at the place. It’s the same cold, grey, empty castle as always.

His key works. No one answers. He’s had so many girls in this bed. Nancy is the only one that came close to making Steve feel something. He loved her, he thinks.

Turns out Nancy was playing him even harder than he was playing her. He can’t even call her a bitch. It’s only fair.

The knob to his mother’s room is locked. He stares at the door, stomach hollow. Heart thundering in his ears.

Girls come in. Tommy, the guys from the team. They see this house and think they know all about Steve. They never see this door. He never brings anybody back to this part of the place.

He presses his palm to the wood. Then backs away. His mother could be in there, laying on the floor, covered in blood and not breathing. Steve doesn’t want to see it again.

He trips down the steps, spills out of the door, coughing like an asthmatic. On the front lawn, he can kind of breathe again. His lungs fill with dank air and dust. He sinks to the grass and runs his fingers through his hair, scraping his nails across his scalp, and willing himself to pull his shit together.

 _Everyone knows how stupid you are._  
_When you get a D, it’s charity._  
_Not even that good of a ballplayer._  
_Certainly not outside of this town._  
_So, what, you’re going to be some kind of hero?_  
_You’re not fooling anybody._  
_They all know you’re a coward._  
_All those girls know._  
_Tommy knows._  
_They only ever liked you for your pool and ‘cause you bought the beer._  
_What about now?_  
_Nobody worth anything wants you around._  
_Nancy dumped your ass._  
_Jonathan can’t stand to look at you._  
_Because you’re a liar and a phony._  
_And the fucking world is ending._  
_Falling apart piece by piece and it’s still better without you in it._

By the time Steve makes it to Dustin’s house, he’s dragging his club. His feet shuffle, back is bent, head bowed as if he were carrying a cross.

He’s supposed to find Dustin, and do what? Why? Who cares? When it’s all going to end anyway? Steve pokes around the Hendersons' house to keep from sitting on the ground crying.

The kid leaps off his mother’s bed and throws his arms around Steve’s neck. Steve shoves out of the smothering embrace.

Dustin shivers. “Last place I saw my dad.”

In Steve’s experience, all dads are assholes. Dustin is better off. Steve slumps on the couch and sighs.

“We need to get out,” he says without conviction.

“How?”

They’re supposed to go back to the cabin and lay down in the same spot and Jane is going to do whatever she does. Then what? Back to Hawkins, and the countdown, and they all die anyway. It’s not worth the energy of walking over there.

“There’s got to be a way out,” Dustin says. “Right? Right? I mean, my dad… ”

He stops talking for a moment, breathing hard and heavy.

“You came in here for me, didn’t you?”

Steve shakes his head but lets the kid drag him outsides.

“Where do we need to go? What do we have to do? Come on, Steve.” Dustin tugs. “You came back for me. Do you understand? You came back for me.”

Whoopty doo for Dustin.

“Where do we have to go? What do we have to do?”

Steve manages to say, “the cabin,” before he sits down on the lawn.

“Come on, Steve. Come on, man.”

Dustin helps him back to his feet, dragging him across town, talking nonstop about all the cool stuff Steve has done for him. When they reach the woods, Steve yanks his arm away. Dustin sees a hero where Steve knows there’s only a useless sack of shit.

“You saved me,” Dustin says. “Now I’m going to save you.”

“Just beat it, kid.”

Steve doesn’t deserve to be saved. He lifts his club to his shoulder, squaring up to take Dustin’s head off. He doesn’t want to hit the kid, but he will.

Would he?

Dustin seems to doubt it. His chin raises. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Fuck! Off!”

Dustin startles, turns and runs.

Steve drops the bat and trudges through the woods toward Clagg’s Creek.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve slumps onto a massive boulder. That boulder. That spot. Once he’s down, nothing’s ever going to budge him. Let the ground swallow him up. That’s what he deserves. He’s faked his way around that other world so long when this is where he belongs. In a cold, empty shadow.

He sits for a hundred years. A thousand. Just staring at the water, waiting for the end.

“Nancy couldn’t find you.”

It’s Steve’s imagination. Jonny can’t be here in this nothing place.

“She thought you’d be at Tina Lastro’s party, but you weren’t.”

It’s not Jonny anyway. It’s that big kid, Jonathan Byers, perched on the rock beside Stevie.

Only Stevie’s big, too. King Steve.

“I thought you’d be with your mom,” Jonathan says. “Can’t believe you’re here.”

“It ended here.”

Jonathan shrugs, but doesn’t deny it. He just says, “Everything ends. Aren’t we even yet?”

“Is that why?”

All this time, Jonathan’s been carrying this grudge, plotting, calculating to use Nancy this way.

“No,” Jonathan says. “I’ve loved her since second grade. You know that.”

Steve knows. The plotting and calculating was him. He’d worked his way up through the skanks and sluts. Finally, he’d roped Nancy Wheeler to show the world and Jonathan Byers that he could.

“You hate me for it?”

“I never hated you, Steve. I only ever missed you.”

Steve is still the king here. King of the dust, and the dark, and the hurt.

“You always were great at pretending,” Jonathan says. “Like nothing’s wrong. Like you weren’t scared every day that you’d go home and your mom would be … I don’t know.”

“Swinging from the chandelier.”

Jonathan shrugs. “Like we didn’t know each other.”

***

A couple of goofy looking kids, no older than Dustin and his pals, wade in the middle of the creek. Jonny Byers has the same awful haircut as now. Stevie Harrington’s hair is all over the place. He paws it out of his face and then shoves Jonny.

The smaller boy flails his arms and keels into the water. Stevie laughs, but offers a hand to help him up. Jonny is drenched and complaining, pitiful and adorable. Stevie never sees the counter attack coming.

Jonny grabs his knees and brings him down into the freezing water. Now Jonny’s the one laughing and Stevie just smiles. He doesn’t  
get this view very often: Jonny Byers forgetting that he’s the poor bastard son of a poor bastard. If Jonny is adorable when he’s sulking, he’s fucking beautiful like this.

So, Stevie kisses him.

He doesn’t think about it first. He’s already thought about it enough. It’s all he ever thinks about.

He doesn’t give Jonny any kind of warning, either. Just dives in like a mad man. Jonny scoots away like a wide-mouthed, black-eyed crab. He scrambles to his feet and runs away.

***

“I just… I didn’t know what to do.” Jonathan says. “I just needed to think.”

Steve drops his chin to his chest. “I told Kyle Massey you were the freak.”

“I was a freak.” Jonathan smiles. “Still am. And if you’d kept hanging out with me, you never would have learned you could play ball and turn into a local god."

“Local dick.”

“Also.” Jonathan stands and dusts off his pants. "Can we head back now? It’s awful here.”

“What about your darkness, or whatever?” The simple act of standing up feels like slogging through sand up to his neck. “Isn’t it…”

“My darkness is my dad, Steve. And he’s with me all the time.”

They walk for a while in silence. The closer they get to the cabin, the closer they walk to one another. Their arms brush once by accident. Jon smiles, knocking some of the weight off Steve’s chest.

“You know that day.” Steve can’t resist. This has been burning him up. “In the alley, I let you win.”

“I know.” Jonathan hasn’t smiled this much since before his dad stopped visiting.

When they were kids, Steve hadn’t seem much difference between Mr. Byers’ vanishing and his own dad’s sales trips. He’s still not sure he does.

“You wanted me to kick your ass?” Jonathan asks.

“I kind of did, yeah.”

“Did it make you happy?”

“Not a lot. No.” It made Steve’s face hurt and bruised his pride pretty good. “Felt good, though.”

Steve stops walking and stares into the rare brilliance of a Jonathan Byers smile. He nearly grins himself, until he remembers. Then his own face falls. “You really want Billy Hargrove?”

“He’s crazy hot.” Jon’s grin is megawatt now.

And Steve’s guts are roiling. What can he say? Billy is hot. Great hair. The abs. He’d never say so out loud, but Billy is probably hotter than Steve.

Jonathan adds, “He’s also a jerk.”

“He’s got… trouble.”

“We all got trouble, Steve. Not everybody’s got heart.” Jon’s palm lands on Steve’s chest, right over that spot that burns like mad whenever he’s about to spring one.

Then, Jonny’s lips are on his, fingers sliding through Steve’s hair, messing it all up, and Steve still doesn’t want him to stop. Even once his lips are numb and buzzing and he’s dizzy like he’s been drinking, and his pecker is rock solid and he’s about to faint.

Breathing hard, Steve steps back to get a good look at Jonathan’s face, to be sure this is really happening.

Of course, they can only be together in the Upside Down. Would that be worth staying in a nightmare universe? Would it be better than going back to Hawkins to fake through the rest of his life?

“God,” Jonathan says, rubbing his fingers together. “What do you put in there?”

Steve shoves him, but Jonathan keeps his balance.

“Come on,” he says. “They probably think you’re dead.”

“That’s not funny.”

Jonathan offers his hand. They couldn’t do it in the other world, but here… Steve is reaching out to take Jonathan’s hand when gunshots split the air.

***

They run up the rickety steps into the cabin and find the best cover available, behind the door to Hopper’s slovenly bedroom. Jonathan’s hand is on Steve’s back and if they weren’t about to die, he’d turn around and continue that kiss.

The door to the cabin slams open. What if Jane was wrong about the demodogs?  
Shit.  
Steve dropped his club someplace in town. He glances around the room for any means of self-defense. His eyes lock on a broomstick as Jonathan moves to open the bedroom door.

“What are you doing?”

But it’s too late. Jonathan bursts into the living room and wraps his mom in a hug. Still panting, she starts to explain. Sheriff Hopper slams into the cabin, eyes burning with rage. He knocks Mrs. Byers to the floor and grabs Jonathan’s throat in both hands.

Steve seizes the broomstick and tries to knock off the sheriff’s head with it. Steve might as well be a troublesome bug. Hopper turns to exterminate Steve and Mrs. Byers wrenches one of his arms behind his back. Jonathan takes the other. Together, with Steve’s help, they manhandle him onto his stomach on the sofa.

Jonathan’s mom lays herself out on the sheriff’s back and whispers into his ear, “It’s okay, Hop. It’s all okay. We’re going to get you home.”


	12. Chapter 12

Steve opens his eyes and Jonathan is laying beside him on the mattress, the way they’d laid down in the Upside Down. Jonathan brushes his hand against the back of Steve’s and warmth spreads like dipping in a hot spring when everything else is winter and ice.

Dustin is surrounded by the young geek brigade. Mrs. Byers is rubbing the Sheriff’s shoulders. Jane makes brief eye contact with Steve and then smiles at Mike and takes his hand.

Jonathan sits up first and Nancy rushes to his side. She slings her arms around Jonathan's neck. Then she pulls Steve into the embrace.

Steve Harrington is a lot of things, but no one will ever call him sophisticated. He can worry about the details later. Right now, he grabs them both and holds on tight.

For the first time, in a long time, it’s just good to be home.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading and stick with this story.   
> I lost steam and rushed through the ending.  
> If you've enjoyed it, stay tuned. I'm going to fix that at some point.


End file.
